AUSTIN, Texas, August 16, 2005 — I wake up sort of exhausted by dreams. I can't remember what was going on now but it was tiring. Dreams are funny. From my 1972 journals I learn that I had dreamed of 'accidentally' going home. Just sort of getting on the wrong train or tram and ending up back in Dallas or something. What an odd dream. I noted in the journal that, after a while, that quit happening. That whole trip and my record of it is so amazing to me in a way.

I was groggy when I got up this morning. I fooled around on the computer after getting into tennis clothes. I got to the club a little before 8:45. I couldn't find any of the tennis people but they

were on the book for 8:30. We finally all got gathered up at nine.

We played almost three sets, with different partners. I got a litle twinge in my left ankle at one point and got pretty hot. I decided not to go down to the gym and do any leg stuff (which I'd planned on) because of that twinge. Any excuse will do.

I got home, ate a peach, answered some of e-mail. Then I finished reading the old journal from the '70's. It continued after my return to Dallas because the second blank book I'd used (purchased in Europe somewhere) wasn't full when I got home. It ended in late March '75 with me planning a party at my apartment on Abbot Street. A lot of things had happened to me that had made me grow up a bit in those years, I guess.

I'm not sure what I was hoping to find in these old journals. I think I'm looking for material. I've been thinking about a short story I want to write. It's primary basis is stuff I've experienced in the last five years.

My Land's End stuff came. Not sure when. It was in my office this morning, FFP must have found on the porch. The Gore Tex jacket, pants and bathing suit are fine.

I got a shower and wondered if there was any chance of getting a hair cut. The barber starts cutting at two after her lunch break. I decide to go up there and see about it. It isn't quite two when I drive up and she has the closed sign out but her car is there. I go over to knock and see about a cut. She opens up and does my hair, pretty slowly. She talks about who owns the building she's in now and about the Amy's going up across the street.

I get home and the maid is there. I am hungry but I don't want to get in her way so I sit in my office and edit some pictures for Forrest and fool around online. When she leaves I'm ravenous. I eat some leftover chicken enchiladas, rice, a banana, a piece of cheese. When FFP comes down a little later and cooks up some of the salmon from Costco in a ginger wasabi sauce, I eat a piece of that, too.

I watch a couple of films from AFF. Forrest sits with me a while and then goes upstairs. I go to my computer and end up reading a few more pages of old journals and jottings. It's depressing in a way and exhilarating in another. To know how wasteful my thought processes were (not to mention the waste of time in writing down those thoughts) is depressing and, um, this continues until this moment. On the other hand as I look at a decades old (1977 to be precise) list of things that I wanted and realize that my life has been fulfilling in many ways. In 1978 I wrote:

"I wish I could see as many possibilities as I used to. Of course, Now there are more realities."

And that's the truth. Tennis is something that comes up in these old journals. A constant from the early '70's until now.

Today my maid said she had an idea for a toothbrush/toothpaste combination years ago and now saw that someone developed one. Ah, yes. Well, today I read in a diet journal in my box of insignificant writing that I'd had the idea of photographing everything I ate. See this. Now, there you go. I had this guy's idea decades ago. And so much more interesting than a toothbrush/toothpaste combo. As we all know, thinking up ideas doesn't mean a thing unless someone does something. I'd much rather think about it than do it, however.

All this thinking, especially thinking about the wasted ideas of life and my own lack of follow-up, is depressing.So...watch movies. That's the ticket.

I watch some of the movies I am reviewing for AFF. Things don't really get less depressing however. I despair sometimes at the money spent to make movies that I don't like, but that extends to wildly popular blockbuster films that make hundreds of millions at home and more overseas. It's freedom of speech I figure. Put enough stuff out there and the cream (er something starting with cr--) will rise to the top. It must be hard to make a movie, good or bad. Just as it's not simple to write a bad book (or a WEB journal). What am I rambling about?

Anyway, I tired of reviewing entries and instead watched a Netflix I ordered at some point on some recommendation and which has now showed up in my mailbox. Called, in English (it's French with subtitles) Man Bites Dog. The title in French (C'est arrivé près de chez vous) is no more revealing, perhaps. Although it seems so to me that both are a little obtuse. It is a mockumentary (whether you like the term or not) about a thief and killer who has a crew following him around making a documentary. It is strange indeed. I tried to imagine having pulled this one from the bins for review at AFF. I tried to watch another of those films. Turned out to be a mockumentary. Can't say about what as these reviews are confidential. I will say it was a far less serious subject.I didn't finish watching it, though. I decided I needed to lie in bed with a book until sleep won the day. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was the book. Have I mentioned that I'm also still reading Gilbert's exposition of Ulysses (bathroom selection) and listening Michael Cunningham's Speciman Days on CDs and reading The Beak of the Finch (occasionally when we go out somewhere or at the club when I don't take newspapers)? More on those topics later. Sleep does win the day, however. And tomorrow, well, I think I'll turn over a new leaf and spend time more wisely than reading all this stuff or watching strange movies or, for that matter, reading my own musings from thirty (yes, thirty) years ago.